Restitution
by demonkatgurl17
Summary: After Stiles is drugged, Derek deals with the aftermath. Follows the events in "Revelations". Third installment of the 'Jagged' series.


A numb feeling had settled over Derek, like he was in shock, going on automatic as his mind ran circles around his body.

_Derek_.

That's who Danny said Stiles had been trying to forget. Granted, Derek wasn't what you would call _involved_ in Stiles's life, but he was pretty sure that other than Scott, Allison, Lydia, and his pack, Stiles didn't have many friends.

None who also went by 'Derek'.

And the fact that he was _older_ and had a girlfriend closer to his _own_ age…

Derek's grip tightened on the steering wheel.

There was no doubt in his mind that Danny was talking about him. The problem was he didn't know what to do. If he _should _do anything. If he _wanted _to do anything. Hell, until Danny said something, Derek hadn't been aware that Stiles even _liked_ him. The teen certainly hadn't acted like it.

Well, beyond holding Derek up for hours in a freaking swimming pool. Or, when he helped out him and his pack without being asked.

Okay, maybe it was just how Stiles talked, threatening to let Derek die on the side of the road…but then hours later, Stiles had been willing to cut off Derek's arm to save him…

Derek huffed in irritation.

It chafed at him that he really didn't know where he stood with Stiles, so much so that something big like a freaking _crush_ had escaped Derek's notice. The low-grade arousal that he usually associated with Stiles's scent made much more sense now (he'd been writing it off as teenage hormones), though Scott never smelled as hot and bothered as _Stiles_ usually did.

Fuck, just…..how the hell had Derek missed this? The signs were all there and every one of them had been ignored. A guilty part of Derek reminded him of all the warning signs he'd ignored with Kate, but he quickly pushed the thought away. The past was in the past and he had a lot more on his plate to deal with right now.

First and fore most being: what the fuck to do with a roofied teenager?

Without knowing what the Tall, Dark, and Muscled douchebag had given Stiles (and how much), it wasn't safe for him to be on his own. The kid might drown in his own vomit or something. Normally, he might take him to Scott's house, but he was in the hospital with his mom. Leaving Stiles at his own house was out since he doubted the Sheriff would be home anytime soon either.

Technically, Stiles _should_ go to the hospital, but then his dad would find out where he'd been and what he'd really been doing—and _Derek_ bringing him in wouldn't look especially great.

It looked like he would have to babysit tonight.

Shit.

And Jennifer was probably still sitting alone in the loft.

He sent her a quick text to let her know that he was on his way back, hoping she wasn't too worried, and dropped the phone into his lap. A glance over to the passenger side confirmed that Stiles was still out cold.

At least he was still breathing.

Derek studied Stiles's lax face in glances, the teen's features bathed on and off with street light as they drove through town.

Passed out and silent for once, Stiles looked different. The teen Derek was used to was almost always filling the silence around him with words, throwing out suggestions and sarcasm. And moving, always moving, be it running or twitching or playing with whatever happened to be in his hand.

But like this, he looked young, innocent. Fragile, in a way that some people liked (Tall, Dark, and Muscled had certainly liked it). And his new hair cut certainly suited him, better than the shaved, prepubescent look he'd been rocking last year. It made him look fairly decent—attractive, even—especially with the way the lower lip of Stiles's Cupid's bow mouth pouted out, full and almost bruised-looking.

It reminded him of how Jennifer's lips sometimes looked after a make-out session or after they'd been wrapped so nicely around his—

Derek shook himself. He had a drugged teenager in his car. The last thing he needed was a hard on. God, if he was pulled over right now...

Thankfully, he made it the rest of the way to his building without incident. Stiles hardly stirred when Derek picked him up and carried him inside. The ride in the ancient elevator felt longer than usual and Derek found himself staring at Stiles's face again, close as it was to him.

Stiles looked open and trusting.

Derek wasn't used to seeing him look like that. Not around him anyway. Most of the time, Stiles's expression was either cynical or nervous, depending on the situation. Or both.

This was a nice change.

Even if it _was_ drug-induced.

The elevator shuddered to a halt and Derek hefted Stiles up higher onto his chest so he could shove the door open easier. Jennifer was already jogging across the room to meet him, muffling her gasp into the palm of her hand when she recognized who was in Derek's arms.

"Oh my god, is he okay? Was it _them?_" she asked, a slight tremor in her voice.

Jennifer's worry and fear mixed into her scent and Derek shook his head, quick to set her at ease.

"It's not werewolf related," _not technically_, "he's been drugged, but he should be fine," Derek said, carrying Stiles over to his bed. Gently, he laid the teen down and tucked his pillow underneath Stiles's head. He wasn't sure why it was important that it was _his_ pillow he used instead of Jennifer's (a pillow was a freaking pillow), but a primal part of him was satisfied that Stiles would be breathing in _his_ scent and not hers.

"So…why bring him here if he's been drugged? Wouldn't a hospital be better for him?" Jennifer asked. Her arms were crossed nervously over her stomach and she was looking between Derek and Stiles in confusion.

"He's safer here," Derek said. "He just needs to sleep it off."

"Okay," Jennifer said, accepting his judgment. "Um, it's getting late and I have class in the morning so…I guess I'll go sleep at my house…" she trailed off, the lilt in her voice making the statement more of a question.

"Sure, that's fine," Derek said, leaping at the offer, happy to not have to bring up the suggestion himself. "I'll be up all night anyway, in case he gets worse," he said, running a hand up and down her arm reassuringly. Until he could wrap the idea around his head that Stiles had a crush on him, it was probably best to be alone for a while (or as alone as he could get with someone passed out in his bed).

Jennifer smiled at him, tentatively, before leaning up for a quick, chaste kiss and then set about gathering her things, never one to dally when she had a task before her.

On her way towards the lift, she gave Derek a tiny wave and he returned it, the gesture making him feel a little silly and awkward. He stood listening as the elevator descended, following her movements to the outermost range of his hearing before he wandered over to the large table near the windows.

It wasn't that he _minded_ how affectionate Jennifer was or the way she constantly sought out his approval, he just… he had his pack for that. Being in a relationship again was nice, but occasionally he was overcome by how eager Jennifer was to please him, to make him happy (especially when Derek still didn't quite believe he deserved it). At times, when he most needed someone to push back against his ideas, it had frustrated Derek more than once how she would differ to his judgment, how instead of being a concrete wall for him to butt against, she would buckle like plywood.

Derek picked up a chair near the table and carried it back to the bed, wondering why the hell his mind chose _now_ to examine his relationship.

Everyone wanted a strong partner at their side, especially Alpha wolves. And while he was hopeful about Jennifer (she _was_ about as different from Kate as he could probably get), part of him wondered if he was just being selfish, keeping her close to him when she might break rather than bend under the stress of staying with him.

But he was allowed to be selfish, wasn't he? After he'd tried pushing his pack away to protect them, after having Erica and Boyd taken from him by the Alpha Pack, after _everything_ he'd done to try to make up for all of his stupid teenage mistakes, wasn't Derek _allowed_ to want something for himself? Something virtually untouched by the mess that was his life?

Derek set the wooden chair down on the side closest to Stiles and collapsed onto it, doing his best to turn away his melancholy thoughts.

He watched vacuously as Stiles shift a little on the bed, the teen letting out a small noise before falling still once more.

Worry crept in despite Derek's earlier certainty that Stiles didn't need to go to the hospital and he repressed it, consoling himself. Stiles would be fine, he knew it. He'd seen the teenager walk away from far worse things than a mundane date-rape drug. Stiles would bounce back.

Stiles was strong.

Derek probably wouldn't need to do more than explain the situation to Stiles before sending him on his way with a swift kick in the ass for being such an _idiot_ in the first place.

Rule number one of clubbing: keep track of your drink and don't let someone just _give_ you one.

Derek shook his head in amazement at how trusting the teen obviously still was despite all the crap that had been thrown at him. Hopefully, this little incident would teach him something.

There was a slight hitch in Stiles's breathing before it evened out again. Stiles's tongue flicked out to wet his lips, the teen smacking them in his sleep with a little hum. Derek waited with mild curiosity for more little sounds and movement, but Stiles seemed to have settled back into a deep sleep.

Sighing to himself, Derek wished he knew what to expect for the rest of the night, like danger signs and effects of the drug. It would figure that the internet was nowhere within his reach when he actually needed the damn thing—

An idea struck him and he pulled out his phone, swiftly dialing a number and waiting with borderline impatience for his uncle to answer. Thankfully, Peter picked up on the fourth ring.

"_Yes?_" came lazily from across the line.

Derek wondered absently if he'd woken the man (not that he cared). "I need you to look up something. Are you near your computer?" he asked, quickly.

A faint groan came from Peter's end. "_I suppose I _can_ be. Why?"_

"Stiles was at a club tonight and someone drugged him. I need to know what kind of side effects to expect." Derek said, getting to the point.

There was silence on the line for a few beats before a disbelieving "_really_" huffed in Derek's ear.

"Yes," Derek bit off, clamping his jaws against the urge to tell Peter to move faster. That wouldn't get him anywhere, especially with the older man on the other side of town and out of the reach of Derek's teeth.

"_Okay_," Peter accepted. For a few seconds, all Derek heard were indistinct muffled sounds, like things were being moving around, followed by a flutter of staccato taps—keys, he thought—and then Peter was back, muttering "_come on, wake up_" under his breath.

Derek ground his teeth, his impatience eating at him. He distracted himself by running his eyes over Stiles again, focusing on the steady beat of his heart, on the even rise and fall of his chest. The technique worked until Peter cleared his throat, the grating sound setting Derek back on tenterhooks.

"_Alright_," Peter said. _"What did he take?"_

Shit.

Derek couldn't answer that, and the only person who could was probably off trying to score another victim. "I don't know," he said, feeling like he had failed Stiles by not being able to provide the information.

"_…you don't know…"_ Peter said flatly, his incredulity evident.

"No," Derek shot back bitterly. "When I found him, he didn't have a drink in his hand, but he could hardly stand and his breath stank of alcohol and something medicinal— something different from his usual meds."

"_Is he incoherent_?" Peter asked.

"He's unconscious and drooling on my pillow," Derek said tiredly. He glared the spreading spot of saliva as if it were the cause of all of Derek's problems tonight. "He passed out after I got him into my car. He wasn't much help before then either."

Peter went quiet again and it took a herculean effort for Derek to stop himself from venting his frustration out on his uncle.

"_So let me get this straight,_" Peter said, annoyance creeping into his voice. "_You have an unconscious minor in your loft that ingested an unknown cocktail of alcohol and drugs and you _haven't_ taken him to a hospital?"_

Derek grit his teeth against his uncle's chastisement. "I don't want to take him in if it's not necessary. He's completely helpless right now and I don't want to give the Alpha Pack another target tonight. Scott's mom was in an accident a few hours ago that both me and Scott think was caused by them. He's at the hospital with her right now. He can't look after both his mom _and_ Stiles, and I wouldn't be able to watch him either once his dad found out he was in the hospital. And I doubt the Sheriff would let me near him."

Especially if _Derek_ was the one who brought in the Sheriff's roofied son, when the man had seen Derek with Scott only hours before. The Sheriff wasn't stupid and he would ask questions , would want to know how Derek had known that Stiles was roofied in the first place—in short, it was a whole lot of crap no one needed right now.

"_Then have Isaac or Cora play body guard_," Peter suggested.

"They're busy going over the crash site, seeing if they can find anything that would prove it was the Alpha Pack and not just a run-of-the-mill deer accident," Derek said. It was a long shot that the crash wasn't touched by the supernatural (be it the Alpha Pack or even the darach), but Derek wanted to find an answer for Scott before there was any talk of retaliation.

"_And you need _both_ of them for that?" _Peter asked.

While it was a fair point that having Isaac and Cora investigate the crash together was redundant, there was also safety in numbers (not that two betas were really a _match_ against an Alpha). But that wasn't the real reason that Derek was reluctant to draw one of them back.

After finding out _why_ Stiles had gone to the club in the first place, Derek felt responsible for the teen's current condition. It didn't matter that he wasn't the one who had drugged Stiles or that he hadn't even _known_ about the teen's crush. The fact was that Derek should have known that _something_ was wrong with Stiles.

He'd noticed that Stiles had been unusually absent from Scott's side lately and he'd shrugged it off. He'd heard Jennifer talk about her classes, about how _removed _Stiles in particular seemed in her class while somehow maintaining a straight A, and he'd shrugged it off. He'd noticed Stiles's heartbeat hammering in anger and the sharp scent of pain coming off the teen while Derek had stood _right in front_ of Stiles and he'd shrugged it off, chalked up every sign to teenage angst and the pressures of high school and the threat of the Alpha Pack and maybe even a little jealousy.

It had taken an embarrassingly long time for Derek to really _see_ Stiles for what he was—an infatuated teen withdrawing from the pain of reality.

And Stiles could have paid dearly for Derek's oversight (his hazy initial willingness tonight aside).

_Unacceptable_, Derek thought to himself.

Stiles might not be pack, but he had selflessly helped Derek on more than one occasion and had _earned_ Derek's protection, protection he had needed tonight. Ultimately, guilt was the driving force behind Derek's actions and was why he wouldn't let anyone but himself watch the teen. His willful ignorance had driven Stiles to put himself in danger trying to find comfort in complete strangers. Damage had already been done and though trying to repair it might be a lost cause, Derek was still going to try—in _baby steps_, if he had to. That kind of restitution wasn't something he could pay by pawning Stiles off on Isaac or Cora.

Stiles _deserved_ an Alpha sentry.

Derek sighed, his upper body hunching forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. "I need to be the one to do it," he said gruffly, his tone brooking no argument. Elaborating further would only highlight yet another failure of his and Derek couldn't handle that right now. He was hanging by a thread as it was.

"_Alright. Far be it from me to question your masochistic tendencies. Let's see…" _Peter trailed off, with another round of faint staccato tapping in the background. _"Hmm…there are at least two or three drugs that are popular in club settings, though I'm sure there's plenty more...What symptoms have you noticed so far?"_

"His speech was slurred, his coordination was all over the place—but then again it kind of is all the time. He collapsed when he tried to walk and I had to carry him before he fell asleep in my car. He hasn't been conscious since," Derek quickly supplied while he studied the teen on the bed, looking for anything else he might have missed.

"_That could be any of these_," Peter said, seemingly muttering to himself. "_Hm, most of these have pretty much the same additional side effects too: lack of coordination, speech problems, memory impairment, nausea, black outs, vomiting, death_—"

_"_Death?" Derek interrupted, spitting the word out louder than he'd intended. Stiles twitched restlessly, the noise apparently disturbing him. Struggling reign in his emotions, Derek focused on Stiles's heartbeat again, mollified somewhat by its strong, steady rhythm.

"_I'm just reading the list, Derek. There are other side effects too, but Stiles seems to be displaying only the effects shared by all three of the most common club drugs. The lack of a stand-out side effect doesn't make it any easier to narrow down what he took and without an actual drug test, I don't think we're going to figure it out ourselves." _Peter hummed in mild frustration. "Technically_, you shouldn't have driven him _anywhere—"

"I couldn't leave him there," Derek shot back angrily.

Peter's exasperated sigh sent static over the line for a moment. "_Fair enough. It's over and done with, anyway. If you're hell bent on doing this off the record, then I suggest keeping an eye on him for the next several hours, see if anything changes in his breathing or heart rate. If anything does change, you won't have a choice about taking him to a hospital. Though if you bit him, he wouldn't have to worry about little things like date rape drugs anymore…"_ Peter said, trailing off suggestively.

Fear and sadness enveloped Derek. The last time he'd listened to Peter's advice on turning someone, the result had been death, rare and unexpected as the outcome was to the bite. Derek had learned better since then, since _Paige_. The bite _was_ a gift, but it wasn't one that every human could receive, and the thought of biting Stiles without his consent, of possibly having to watch Stiles convulse on the bed in pain while staining the sheets black, left a foul taste in Derek's mouth.

"…no…" Derek whispered, fisting a hand in the sheets hanging off the bed near him, eyes glued to the slumbering teen blissfully unaware of the casual discussion of his humanity.

Derek refused to bite Stiles like this. It went against the promise he'd made to himself to not bind another to him without complete disclosure and their acceptance of everything that went with the bite. He wouldn't do it like this, when he didn't even know if Stiles could still _tolerate_ his presence.

He couldn't live through another 'Paige'.

"I'm not biting him, not like this. I'll let you know if anything changes," Derek said tersely and ended the call, doubtful whether he _would_ keep his uncle in the loop anymore tonight. Talking to the man could be draining at the best of times and Derek was damn near tapped out. Just staying awake to watch over Stiles was going to be hard enough.

Releasing his grip on the bed sheets, Derek sat up and stretched his arms up over his head, using the energy the delicious pull of muscle gave him to shake off his encroaching exhaustion.

On the bed, Stiles squirmed again, kicking a foot out and entangling it in the sheets.

A fond wisp of a smile pulled at Derek's mouth as he lowered his arms and reached over to free the teen's foot. He hesitated for a second before going further, shucking off Stiles's shoes and socks, tossing them carelessly to the floor.

No one liked to sleep in shoes.

Somewhat content after making Stiles more comfortable, Derek settled back in his chair, shifting his phone out of his pocket as he briefly cast an eye over Stiles's face. If it weren't for the fact that Derek knew Stiles was zonked out on drugs and alcohol after trying to get it on at a gay club, he might believe in the innocent picture the teen made, sprawled out in a deep, peaceful sleep, giving the occasional soft whine.

_Or snore_, Derek amended as a loud snort exploded from the teen's partially open mouth.

_Yeah, absolutely adorable_, Derek thought to himself sarcastically as he sent Scott a much belated text, saying that he'd found Stiles , who'd had _way_ too much to drink, and was sleeping it off at his place. For the time being, Scott didn't need to know about the drugs (or the potential danger Stiles may in from the combined drug and alcohol mixture). He had enough to worry about with his mom at the moment.

Crossing his arms, Derek reclined back in his chair, balancing on his weight on its back legs, resigning himself to several hours of 'Stiles Sitting'.

Derek just hoped that he wouldn't be greeted by the same look Stiles had given him in the club: an accusing scowl, annoyed that once _again_ Derek had shown up to ruin his life.


End file.
